Pages

Saturday, February 4, 2017

The last white house at the end of the row of white houses - Michael E. Casteels (Invisible Publishing)

Today's book of poetry:The last white house at the end of the row of white houses. Michael E. Casteels. Invisible Publishing. Halifax & Picton, Nova Scotia. 2016.

Today's book of poetry went back to the stacks today to see what we could find on Michael E. Casteels. Turns out we had more than we remembered, less than we want. Casteels has published more than a dozen chapbooks and we were only able to turn up three of them. The Robot Dreams (Puddles of Sky Press, 2013), solar-powered light bulb and the lake's achy tooth (Apt 9 Press, 2015)

and check engine. rhinoceros. tungsten (Puddles of Sky Press, 2015).

Today's book of poetry has written about both The Robot Dreams and check engine. rhinoceros. tungsten. and you can check those out here:

It was easy to like those chapbooks but now, with considerable glee, we present the last white house at the end of the row of white houses and Today's book of poetry couldn't be happier to see Casteels with a trade collection. And this one is a corker.

Casteels seems to have a mastery of a certain kind of romantic ennui, these poems are loving but gently sad.

Universe Composed Of Mostly Nothing,

New Study Indicates

Suddenly we're weightless,

columns of light

slice through us

and a gentle breeze

blows us further apart.

For a while we drift,

waving farewell to our hands,

whispering goodbye

with lips already distant

to ear that were barely even here.

...

We were pretty happy here in the Today's book of poetry offices when Casteels book arrived, it's great to see him get the opportunity to let the ya-ya's out, to canter, skip, sprint and cavort. The last white house at the end of the row of white houses gives Casteels a platform to spread his considerable wings. And we loved the title of this book, a big old juicy long-assed title.

Casteels mixes clinical detail of the day to day with an imagined reality that lives just beneath our skin and just beyond our grasp. The result is a strangely familiar poetic that can be both consternating and comforting depending on whether Casteels is slamming on the brakes or hammering down on the gas.

The Map

Somebody dropped a map on the sidewalk downtown

and no one stopped to pick it up. Now it's dark, the

streets are empty, and the map is alone. It shivers as the

fingers of a heavy breeze grab the edge of a page and

start pulling. The map spreads out in all directions. It

crawls over fire hydrants and parked cars, mailboxes,

phone booths. It climbs up lampposts and stop signs. It

smothers building and bridges. The map unfolds until

it blankets the entire city at a ration of one-to-one.

The next morning, no one is late for work. Their keys

are right where they left them. No one misplaces a wallet

or searches for a missing sock. The lost dog arrives at

the front door and barks to be let in. No one stops to

ask for directions. No one honks a horn or slams on

their brakes. Everything inhabits its own space and

everything feels right at home. But the map, now one

with its city, longs for a pocket to nestle in. It wants to be

folded and pressed against another map, a map of some

foreign city whose streets are beautifully unknown.

...

Today's book of poetry was impressed with the straight out punching power in The last white house at the end of the row of white houses. Casteels is a Sugar Ray Leonard poet. These poems come at you from every direction but the power behind the punch is always right on target.

Milo, our head tech, took over our morning read today, he's been a Casteels fan ever since The Robot Dreams got stuck in his noggin. Milo said that he found Casteels poems "twist like real life, tease like dreams." We liked that.

The Red Light

I'm already late and speeding,

praying the light doesn't change.

It does and I stop.

I tap my fingers against the wheel,

twist dials on the dash. In the rear-view mirror

I examine the spaces between my teeth.

The light hasn't changed.

I rummage through the glovebox,

remembering the spearmint gum.

I count spare change in the ashtray.

Minutes pass. I consult the

owner's manual. I read it

cover to cover and still

the light remains. At sundown

I begin to worry. I take only

short sips from my water bottle.

I flick the high beams off and on,

signalling in Morse code. It's getting late.

Radio hosts abandon the airwaves.

I watch the moon drift overhead.

Night after night

the moon wanes

until crescent, and then

into nothing. I've been

counting the days on my

fingers and toes. Seasons

shift and skew. I engage the

wipers when it rains, crank the

defrost when it snows.

On humid summer evenings

I roll down the window

and let me arm dangle.

A faint breeze stirs my thought

and I wonder about Goldie.

Is she swimming in circles

or just floating in the archway

of that tiny plastic castle? I hope the water

is fresh, that her bowl is clean, I hope she wants

for nothing. And sitting here, bathed in the glow

of this godforsaken light, I wonder

if she'd even remember me.

...

Obviously we here at Today's book of poetry are big admirers of Michael E. Casteels, his third appearance on our page puts him in the rarefied atmosphere of our repeat customers, our favourites. The last white house at the end of the row of white houses will present Casteels to a much wider audience and we here at Today's book of poetry know they are in for a treat.

Michael E. Casteels

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael e. Casteels is the author of over a dozen chapbooks of poetry. In 2012, he was nominated for The Premier’s Awards for Excellence in the Arts, an emerging artist award. He lives in Kingston, where he runs Puddles of Sky Press.

BLURBS
“Have you seen Michael e. Casteel’s first full-length book of poems? It’s here, in front of your face. It begins with a wolf at the door and ends by waving farewell to our hands. Inside you’ll find everything you need: robots, a possum’s sneeze, and coffins filled with jelly donuts. The Last White House at the End of the Row of White Houses is one of the most exciting debuts to appear in Canadian poetry. Brilliant, strange, beautiful and encouraging, Casteel’s poetry is a repair kit for the human spirit.”

— Jason Heroux, Hard Work Cheering Up Sad Machines

“Worlds of invention, humour, insight and the energy that is language. Michael e. Casteels’s first full-length collection is rich with empathy for robots and the sea, and the brilliant, delicate, outrageous leaps the mind makes when given words and our lives.”

— Gary Barwin, Moon Baboon Canoe

Michael E. Casteels

"Particles"

video: Small Books, Big Country

invisiblepublishing.com

548

DISCLAIMERS

Poems cited here are assumed to be under copyright by the poet and/or publisher. They are shown here for publicity and review purposes. For any other kind of re-use of these poems, please contact the listed publishers for permission.

We here at TBOP are technically deficient and rely on our bashful Milo to fix everything. We received notice from Google that we were using "cookies"

and that for our readers in Europe there had to be notification of the use of those "cookies. Please be aware that TBOP may employ the use of some "cookies" (whatever they are) and you should take that into consideration.